


the stars will start to fade (when all the darkness fades away)

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Bottom Blaine, How Do I Tag, M/M, Top Kurt Hummel, immortal!kurt, invincible!blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2469293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>blaine is invincible. kurt is immortal. together, they're not going anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part i

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: ok...... so....... i realize that this is shitty and confusing and really difficult to read because i didn't bother capitalizing anything. oops. but it's the first thing i've ever posted on here, so gimme a break. to clarify: it's from blaine's point of view. the girl is quinn. magic is a thing in this world, and blaine asked the reigning wizard to make him invincible. the wizard did, and then the wizard died. so they don't really have a government system anymore, but that's not really important to the story, so i didn't really incorporate that stuff. sorry for any incoherence or typos; this had no beta. and there's a very brief, nondescript sex scene in part ii. you saw the tags, if you don't like that, don't read the sex part. but other than that, enjoy!

a/n: warning in this part for vague descriptions of depression, self harm, suicide, assault, and a gay slur.

 

-

 

his stomach is sloshing and overly full and he can’t properly think. the bruises are swelling and throbbing in the side of his head and the softness of his stomach and the muscle of his shoulder. his knuckle is split open where he cracked it against the wall and his knees are wobbling and weak, straining underneath his weight.

the bruises of his shoulders heave once, twice, and the contents of his stomach spill onto the pavement. he crumples to his knees and sees red before he doesn’t see anything anymore.

 

-

 

of course, he wakes up. he always does. the invincible boy. he is awoken by the foul stench of his own vomit rising in his nostrils and the unfortunate fact that he has fallen face first into it. he would rather be dead. it’s the better option, the easy way out, who in his position wouldn’t choose it? he hadn’t asked for this. he was just trying to be—obviously. he hadn’t succeeded. he had wanted to be powerful. but his power was his weakness.

 _you cannot be destroyed_.

he had a plentiful number of purposefully made enemies. at first he taunted them to gloat his superiority. then they discovered that he was breakable. fixable, but breakable. and he took the beatings and the smirk vanished from his face, the confidence from his eyes, the relaxed poise from his posture. he kept coming back. even when he thought, if they can’t break me, maybe i can, and drowned himself in alcohol and too many pills and ran blades over his wrists and rung a noose around his neck, there was nothing to be done. the blessing and the curse was intact. he flexes his hand and finds his knuckle mended. flexes his shoulder and feels no bruise, nor does he see black and blue evidence on his stomach and head when he looks in the cracked window. it is cracked but not for age, there is not a speck of dust to be found on it.

he rises, then, and goes to find a hose or hydrant where he can wash his face.

he despises the mess.

 

-

 

he meets with her later, not his her, but her her, because she belongs to herself and he has no business claiming her anyway. she says, _you tempted them again_. and he says, _i was drunk_. and she nods. she knew. she knows. her sense of smell makes up for where her eyes fail her. _are you okay?_ this is what she is obligated to ask. his response is bitter: _of course._

_i worry, even so._

_you shouldn’t. they can’t destroy me, remember?_

_they can hurt you. they have hurt you._

_it’s okay,_ he says. _i was asking for it._

 

-

 

he wanders through the unevenly paved streets barefoot with nothing more than the clothes on his back. she can’t watch out for him constantly, and neither of them see anything wrong with it. she’ll always worry. but she has her own problems to accommodate most of the space in her short life. anyway, he’ll be around after she dies. he should get used to it. being alone.

he steals a ripe apple from a vendor for breakfast. the vendor doesn’t notice. no one does. he is invisible as well as invincible. people think he is a sort of ghostly legend here, and when they do manage to see him, they like to prove themselves right.

they can do whatever they want to him.

but he will not die. he will return. he will wake up.

he will not be destroyed.

 

-

 

it’s getting to the point where hiding is useless. he doesn’t stand out here anymore than anyone else does, but he is looked for more than any missing person in the village. ridiculous, because he is not lost in the slightest. on the contrary, he is too found.

_hey, faggot!_

the laughter follows him everywhere, his constant shadow even on days the sun doesn’t show. he was afraid of death, once. now he craves it. if only the shadow over his shoulder was the grim reaper come to relieve him of this world instead of boys full of bravado come to pummel him just to watch him get back up.

once, he laughed at the fools trying to attempt the impossible. now he is living the impossible and the wizard is dead and it is irreversible, his life, just as irreversible as death is for normal people.

on the occasions he can get some sleep on a spare mattress in her house, he buries his head in the springs and curls up under the blanket and clamps his arms tight around his head so no one will hear him cry.

she hears him cry, though.

he knows she does.

she just never says anything about it.

 

-

 

news rushes to her ears as quickly as stones rush to his body the second he steps out of the alleyway. and she tells him everything. _they have people coming through the village. not royalty. not nobles, even. no. they are from the village on the mountain plateau and they have come to trade because the mountain is more bountiful than they need._ she scoffs telling him this. _they are not poor. not rich, no, but they are not poor. what have our village to trade with this good mountain crop? we are a bunch of poor shacks hobbled together by a stink and a street. the wizard only visited to—_ she stops, looks at him, blind eyes apologetic nonetheless.

 _i can see your pride for our village from the stars,_ he replies, laughing so that she will relax. it is not her fault he is a foolish, vain little boy. _we do have our medicine. our pills._

 _our addictions,_ she says, and he does not correct her.

 _and our alcohol,_ he continues, trying to make light. _the best medicine there is!_

 _yes,_ she says, looking him directly in the eyes though she does not know their placement on his face. _it takes away the pain._

 

-

 

_do you think they have magic?_

they are watching—well, he is watching—the traders pass smiling through their deplete town. few of their villagers have offered anything in return. they are merely watching the procession like the spectacle it is. it is she who asks the question, as the breeze ruffles through their hair from the building they are perched atop.

 _of course not,_ he says. _just because they have good crop does not mean the wizard visited them. it means they know the mountain._

she rolls her eyes, then jabs him sharp in the ribs with her elbow.

_what was that for?_

_look,_ she says, voice soft, see _him? on the back of the cart with the little brown horse._

he sees him. he sees him, yes, he sees him, a fleeting moment where their gazes connect and he feels the sharpness of the green gray eyes on his own. it is a boy, his own age if not more so, half hidden crouching in the back of the cart like a cat, only half of his pale, freckle face bared to the sun. and it is that mere second, that tiny fraction of time in which he senses it. the discerning glisten of magic is in his eyes.

 _he has the magic,_ he whispers, breathless.

 _he has the magic,_ she echoes. _and he looks upward, toward us?_

_no. toward the stars._

_there are no stars in the afternoon, silly._

_there are always stars. you just can’t always see them._

 

-

 

he doesn’t forget about the boy. the traders are staying for three days and he knows he has to act fast. there is only one inn in their village and it is stuffed to the brim with horses and carts and goods and men. he approaches it from the back alley, the only way he knows in.

he jumps at the voice. the boy is standing right in front of him. he does not speak, just swallows around the lump in his throat.

_you are inflicted with some sort of blessing, right?_

_you_ —his voice is a dry croak. _you have the magic._

 _yes_ , the boy says, arching an eyebrow. _i assume you want the blessing lifted. because it is really a curse, isn’t it?_

_how did you know?_

he rolls his eyes. _all blessings are curses in disguise._

_i guess you’re the expert._

they stare at each other a moment before he speaks again.

_i’m invincible._

there is another pause.

_can you… lift it?_

_no._

_what?_ he cannot believe his ears. _what is the point of the magic if not to give and take away? to add and subtract? to send and remove?_

_there is no point to magic. it causes destruction, pain, horror, and it has been outlawed for this reason. why do you think the wizard was killed?_

_but why not reverse all the spells first?_

_you cannot simply reverse a spell. there is a process. the one who cast it must take it away. and so yours cannot be taken, because it was given by the wizard himself. it is near impossible for others with magic, especially ones as young and admittedly inexperienced as i, to remove anything ever cast by the wizard. i am afraid you are a lost cause._

and there it was. his irony. after being beat up and hiding and being found for the past five years, he was finally lost. a lost cause. he turns to crawl back up the alley wall and resign himself to his life. hope has beaten him weary as the sun on his back.

_where are you going?_

_back_. he shrugs. _it doesn’t matter to you, does it?_

 _you look hungry,_ the boy says as an answer. _would you like some fruit?_

 

-

 

they are sharing an orange in the inn’s warm attic, where sunlight streams too bright from the sparkling windows, when a man squeezes his way through the trapdoor and stares at them.

_kurt. who is this?_

_this is my friend…_

_i’m blaine._

it’s been a long time since he’s said his own name aloud. it feels like ashes on his tongue.

the man nods. _i’m kurt’s father. you may call me burt. and don’t bother to trade us back for the fruit,_ he winces because the thought hadn’t crossed his mind once, _it will be on us for nothing._

_thank you, sir._

the man descends the ladder and the boy, kurt, licks orange juice from his fingers.

_i’m sorry i can’t help you with your curse, blaine._

_it’s okay._

_not really. you can get hurt, can’t you, but you just don’t die._

_i wish i could die._

it slips out. he shoves orange into his mouth so he says nothing more, instead chewing loudly.

kurt studies him. _i think that’s an awful idea._

he swallows. _why? you don’t even know me. i could be an awful person._

 _but you’re not. and no one should wish to die. and anyway_ , kurt says, eyes dropping to the rays of sunlight on the attic floor, _i was sort of hoping you would come back to the mountain plateau with me._

_what? why?_

_i think you’d be good company. that’s all._

_why on earth—_

_you get harassed here. you don’t like it here._

_i can’t just leave_ —he stops. he and she never exchanged names.

_your friend?_

a hesitation, then:

_she’s dying._

_i know. that’s why i can’t leave her._

_she wants you to leave her, though._

_can you make her see?_ the question rushes through him, sudden and urgent.

_yes. but what makes you think she wants to?_

 

-

 

two days later, he is in the back of the cart with the little brown horse with kurt. they are pressed close together, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, knee to knee, surrounded by fruit.

 _my mom loved oranges_ , kurt muses.

he notes the past tense but he doesn’t want to ask.

from the same roof where they watched the procession of traders, she waves at nothing he knows she can see. it is with a jolt that he realizes her comment on the roof two days ago. _look!_ and the description of the horse pulling the cart. and how she knew there was a boy in its back.

he watches her gradually get smaller and smaller until he can’t figure her features from the sky anymore as the little brown horse pulls the cart away from the girl he never really got to know.

 


	2. part ii (two years later)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a/n: warnings for nongraphic description of sex and that same gay slur.

 

blaine smells oranges and knows kurt is coming back. still he can’t bring himself to stir from their bed, and he hears the sounds of kurt storing the fruit and then feels his weight sink into the soft mattress next to him.

_hey, blaine._

_hi. good crop today?_

kurt laughs. _the crop is always good for us farmers._

_did any mail come?_

_no. i’m sorry._

_it’s fine._

blaine knows kurt is fighting his impulse to say exactly why it’s not fine, and because he wants to help stop that impulse as well—no ulterior motives, obviously—he kind of snuggles into kurt and pushes the curve of his spine into the lines of kurt’s belly, and kurt curls around him responsively. it’s become a weird sort of thing between them, and blaine isn’t really sure what to call it, because he likes it, but he also hears _faggot_ and laughter still haunting his dreams.

then kurt’s arms wrap around him and he forgets the words and the laughter and, momentarily, how to breathe.

it’s fine.

 

-

 

one day burt is out for trading in another village, a trip kurt begged out of going just so he could take in the orange harvest.

but he doesn’t actually take in the orange harvest. for reasons blaine is reluctant and almost scared to understand, he makes blaine sort fruit with him and then feeds him most of it while blaine blushes the same shade of the crisp apples, and then kurt stops halfway through an orange to put the rest in his own mouth, and they exchange this giggly sort of smile that should be a laugh but it’s too quiet in the atmosphere, and something hangs above them, dangerous and tantalizing, and then their faces are extremely close together.

neither one of them closes the gap first. it is a single, fluid movement with which their mouths connect, but it is kurt’s hands that come up and grasp blaine’s face. everything tastes like orange and fruit and sugar and it’s overwhelming and blaine forgets to close his eyes and then is glad, because kurt’s eyelashes gently shadow the freckles on his high cheekbones and his nose is pressed up right along blaine’s and it amazes him, really, how they just seem to fit together.

it is kurt who pulls back first and blaine who lets out a strangled whine at the loss of contact, then flushes with embarrassment. kurt’s eyes are a vivid green and they’re shining as brightly as his magic aura. blaine realizes that both of them are grinning like complete and utter idiots.

he’s the one that goes back for more.

 

-

 

the first time they actually have sex, burt very suggestively and purposely leaves them alone for an entire two days, claiming a visit to a relative with his words, his eyebrows telling  a very different story.

they lie naked on their bed together and because blaine has no experience with how this thing works, he lets himself be kissed and lets kurt lie on top of him and kiss his way down his body till he reaches his hipbones, avoids blaine’s cock against his stomach, and instead trails his fingernails down his thighs and back behind his balls to spread open his hole.

blaine is an absolute begging mess by the third finger, and then forgets words exist at all when kurt enters him. when kurt bottoms out he brushes a kiss across blaine’s forehead and holds him close, fucking into him with quick deep thrusts.

 _you can go harder,_ blaine says, breathing labored. _i’m not going to break._

kurt buries his sad expression in blaine’s shoulder and fucks him hard until they both come.

 

-

 

the next day blaine awakes up to kurt sitting up on the bed next to him, holding a letter between his fingers. _it’s for you_.

his hands tremble as they open the letter, tied with the ribbon she used to wear in her hair. kurt watches him, eyes troubled, voice silent.

 

_dear blaine,_

_i suppose you have a lot of questions since you left the village with kurt. i am still slowly dying, but helping you has let me lead a more fulfilled life than i otherwise would’ve had. you were—are—a good friend to me. i know you suffered much in our village and i am sorry for it. i knew i had to get you out of here as soon as you were cursed by the wizard. kurt is a good person. he will protect you. you know already that you are safe with him._

_the other point i feel i must clear up with you is that of my identity, moreover, my being blind. i am partially blind, yes. but i do see magic. when i was born and my condition announced, they called me the optimist. because i always see the good, you know? though the magic, it is not always so good. you know. i can see you. i can see kurt. i can see kurt’s horse, so i assume it is not completely ordinary. i am sorry for deceiving you, but that’s the last thing i must tell you._

_i was appointed to the village after you stumbled there post your visit to the wizard, and my job was to be your guardian angel. but i am dying, as you are aware, because of the spell put on me by the wizard himself. (in case you are wondering, yes, i can also see myself. perhaps that explains my excellent fashion sense?) so i had to find a replacement for me. and then kurt came along, and i thought,_ perfect _._

_he is your protector, blaine, yes, but you are also to protect him. you two are a pair connected in the important way. he has magic. he is immortal. you have the curse. you are invincible. neither of you will die, so i think you should at least try to like each other, because you two are stuck together for a very long time._

_somehow  i don’t think it will be a problem._

_sincerely, your friend,_

_quinn_

 

-

 

blaine folds the paper along its original creases sharp and neat.

 _everything okay?_ kurt says.

 _it’s fine_ , blaine says, and smiles, genuinely smiles, at the thought of his old friend for the first time in two years.

kurt takes his hand and presses them both back down to the bed, interlocking their fingers as he goes. the possessiveness of his eyes on blaine’s makes something warm stir in his stomach. _protector,_ quinn had said. but he was stuck on another word. _immortal_.

 _neither of us can die,_ blaine says, and kurt nods.

_i think it works out very well, don’t you?_

blaine smiles.

_i think it does._

\- fin -


End file.
